Blue Magic and Red Dreams
by Basmathgirl
Summary: Fright Night Crossover When Rose doesn't want the Duplicate Doctor they are left to cope on their own as they share a mutual hatred. Once renamed as Peter Vincent, he strives to perform his greatest trick yet; if he can only get it exactly right.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** Peter Vincent = swearing. Hopefully I didn't have to remind you of that.

**Prompt:** what if TenII re-invented himself as Peter Vincent? Suggested by jibber_jabber92

**Prompt Words:** "F***ing perfect!" said by beachy_geek

**Summary:** Rose didn't want the Duplicate Doctor; leaving them to cope on their own as they shared mutual hatred. Once renamed, Peter Vincent is striving to perform his greatest trick yet; if he could only get it exactly right.

**Disclaimer:** okay, I admit it; I don't own these characters nor do I make any money from all of this.

**A/N:** who said Peter Vincent had to be nice? It certainly wasn't me.

**A/N2:** this started off as a drabble, and sort of grew... I just love writing Peter Vincent it seems!

* * *

**Blue Magic and Red Dreams**

.

The Duplicate Doctor scowled. As the TARDIS dematerialised the first thing Rose did was race away from him and towards the disappearing Doctor. The Doctor was alright, he had Donna (or "madam" as he had referred to her) to keep him on his toes.

'Fucking perfect!' he thought sarcastically to himself. He had just sacrificed himself for the greater good, or the valiant companion depending upon what your viewpoint was; and she had immediately abandoned him symbolically. This did not bode well.

She was supposed to fix him, help him overcome his anger issues; stop him wanting to rip the universe apart in a hissy fit of righteousness. It didn't look as though that was going to happen fast. How wizard!

Jackie shivered to the side of him. "It's cold here, ain't it? Let's go and get warm," she suggested to them both.

He gladly followed; the beach increasingly felt cold to him, to the point where he thought he might freeze to death. Jackie seemed to know her way off the beach, so he eagerly followed as she trod along a path through the sand dunes towards the place where he assumed a road was.

A glance back confirmed Rose was following them, but she didn't appear to be terribly keen to walk with them yet. Tears were evidently flowing down her face, and she was making a brave job of hiding that fact from him.

"What name do we call you then?" Jackie suddenly stopped and asked him, bringing him out of his angsty thoughts. "Are you still 'Doctor', or are you something else? What was that name you said the Doctor often used, Rose?" She obviously aimed the last question passed his head and on to Rose as she almost caught them up.

"John Smith," Rose replied reluctantly. "He used that one a few times." It was only then that she managed to look him in the eye, and he knew; he knew that for her he would never be the Doctor or a worthy replacement.

"I need to think about it," he replied to Jackie's query. "Whatever I decide, I have a long time to live with the decision. Apparently I have the life span of another 57 years; or so I was told."

"Who told you that then?" Jackie blurted out without thinking. "Never mind. What shall we call you for the time being?"

He thought carefully about that. "I don't want to use 'John'. And Donna called me… no, I want to steer clear of that," he admitted, turning to deliberately face the wind. He gazed thoughtfully into the distance as he spoke. "I'll change this again later, but for now you can call me Vincent."

"Alright, Vincent," Jackie agreed, repeating the name to herself. "Any ideas, Rose?"

"No," Rose answered forlornly; hugging herself against the harsh wind.

That clearly left Jackie in charge of this situation. She sighed dramatically and led them further towards the road and the transport Pete was sending.

* * *

Half a day later Vincent was standing in the bedroom allocated to him in Pete's mansion. To give him his due, Pete had tried to spice things up as he had shown Vincent around the house. His inherited memories only covered the ground floor and the wine cellar.

"And here is Rose's bedroom," Pete had pointed out to him, obviously expecting some sort of reaction.

Vincent had cautiously looked around the landing. "Where will I be sleeping, Pete? I'm not exactly sure it would be wise to put me near Rose," he had readily admitted.

"Oh! So you're not… with her…?" Pete sort of asked.

There was a desperate shake of the head from Vincent. "No!" he answered as though the thought was disgusting. Well, something about it was disgusting but he wasn't owning up to what. It was less embarrassing if he pretended he wasn't interested. As it was he had a whole new human male body that begged to be investigated; if someone would let him. Was this why Donna had laughed at him so much?

He quickly pinched himself in punishment. Best not to think about her until he was alone and could grieve properly.

"I see," Pete had replied, and shown him a bedroom up in the attic, up where the staff would once have slept; adding in lots of apologies as he did so.

* * *

In fact Vincent was relieved. He practically had the whole floor to himself, and he could do whatever he liked in private. Once Pete was out of the way, and clean bed linen had been placed in his hands, he had set about making this corner of the mansion his own for the time being. The long term plan was to get a place of his own, but that was too far away to contemplate in that moment.

Having busied himself with the practicalities of making his bed, he was left to sit on the covers and consider his existence. All the indicators he had been getting from his senses had told him something had happened to Donna; he had felt it most severely when they were onboard the Zeppelin but had managed to hide it by feigning nausea and running to the toilet. Sitting there in hiding was no longer necessary, and he howled like a silent baby.

It would be the only time he'd allow grief to possess him like that. He vowed he would replace it with a better, more powerful emotion: anger.

There was so much anger inside him! He wanted justice, he wanted recompense; but most of all he wanted love, the love he had been promised back in the other universe. In a fit of pique he ended up punching the door. "Fuck!" he swore loudly and caressed his wounded fist. "Fuckity fuck fuck!"

It was true; swearing really did help lessen the pain. Shaking his offended hand didn't work purely on its own. Glaring wildly, he considered himself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. That had to go, he decided. The whole cockatiel and sideburns look would be ditched as soon as possible. He was going to reclaim that face as his own; marking it with his own stamp. Gone was the gentleman Doctor; this was a brand new person staring back at him. A human someone who didn't have to play by the rules unless he wanted to; and he really didn't want to.

* * *

The trouble with being human, he soon discovered, was all the emotions you had to contend with throughout the course of a day. He found himself veering from anger to boredom, and occasionally landing on grief that was instantly swatted away. That was the hardest one to deal with because he didn't know how to hide it anymore; especially when Jackie had asked him with great concern how he was, and he had only just stopped himself from falling upon her and sobbing his heart out.

In a vain attempt to combat this rollercoaster ride of emotions he had readily agreed to escort Tony to a birthday party as a much needed distraction.

"Hello! I'm Jimbo the Clown. I'm here to do some exciting magic tricks for you," the party entertainer had announced, and Vincent felt his soul try to escape out through his shoelaces.

"Don't!" Jackie had hissed at him when she noticed his petulant pout.

So Vincent had sat back in his seat, arms folded across his chest as he dared the clown to perform a magic trick he couldn't detect. 'It's up your sleeve, you palmed it into your pocket, it never left your hand' he continually commented to himself as the whole pathetic act played out.

"Did you like that, darling?" Jackie asked Tony as he climbed excitedly onto her lap.

His face was a picture of glee. "Yes, Mum. It was good! He made a coin come out my ear, Vincent!" Tony enthused with all the wonder only a small child can rustle up.

"Did he?" Vincent retorted as pleasantly as he could; but Jackie obviously wasn't convinced.

"Don't you dare tell him how," she frantically whispered to him. "And don't play the innocent with me. I saw how you were watching everything."

"Spoil all my fucking fun, why don't you," Vincent muttered to himself.

It was strange that; he was finding that he was swearing more and more. It was as if all former restrictions were off. But the thought of that magic show stuck in his head, and back in his bedroom he would often while away the odd moment by re-enacting every single trick until he could do it perfectly. Well, it made babysitting miles easier since Tony adored all of that. Shame Rose wasn't so impressed; but then he had become used to not impressing her in the slightest.

His time in the Alternate Universe had been mainly spent going to Torchwood as a consultant, travelling back to Pete's mansion and not doing much else. There had been the odd shopping trip once he had earned his first week's wages and Jackie had insisted that he actually change his clothing before it crawled off and died in the corner.

It should have been an exciting time, adjusting to this life, and his gratitude went out to Jackie more than ever because, sure as hell, Rose wasn't interested in helping him very much. It was very clear that she was living in her own version of purgatory as she tried to cope with being abandoned by the Doctor; but none of it was doing him any favours. His plans to move elsewhere became even firmer in his head.

* * *

One extremely rare Saturday morning it was just him and Rose sitting at the breakfast table. Jackie had taken Tony to a swimming class and Pete had gone to a fancy golf course with some mates. Vincent sat there, head held within his hands, observing Rose as she ate her dish of muesli delicately.

"What?" she asked when she realised he was watching her. "What are you looking at me for?"

"Have you stopped pining for him yet?" he asked in return.

"Who?" she blustered.

Vincent sighed. "Don't give me that. We all know who you are yearning for, even after all that has happened."

"I don't know what you mean," she retorted indignantly.

"Oh Rose! Stop pretending!" he cried. "You went searching for him; he dumped you here with me and left. End of. Get over it."

She glared angrily at him. "Since when did you become such a mean and rude person? You never used to be."

"I think you'll find, love, that I've always been this way," he pointed out. "A nice little mixture of my progenitors."

Rose frowned in confusion. "Pro-what?"

"Silly me. You weren't fucking listening all the times I explained who I was, were you?" He glared back at her. "To think I thought you'd be up for it as well."

She stood, huffing indignantly. "You git! That's all you ever wanted from me; a quick jump in the hay. I can't even…" Rose shook her head in disbelief.

"Then you shouldn't have promised you'd do me, you prick tease. All that gushing at me when we were in the TARDIS, all that hair flicking and 'you are so lovely' business. What was all that about?"

Filled with embarrassment, she threw at him, "If that's what you wanted I'm surprised you haven't gone through half the women on the third floor."

"Oh but I have, Rose. I've had no complaints from that lot; none at all. Or lack of volunteers, funnily enough." He added in a smirk at that point.

"You disgust me!"

"So I've noticed!" he sarcastically answered.

She made a noise of exasperation at him. "I am so glad the top officials will be stripping you of all your perks soon, Doctor Vincent. You won't be laughing when they have you strapped down in the laboratory to experiment on your body. It's not often they have a live alien specimen to work on."

He felt all the blood drain to his feet as panic gripped him. "They wouldn't!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning:** Peter Vincent = swearing. Hopefully I didn't have to remind you of that.

**A/N:** Peter Vincent continues to lack being nice. It was more fun like that.  
**A/N2:** Rose might need a hug at the end of this.

* * *

Previous:

_He felt all the blood drain to his feet as panic gripped him. "They wouldn't!"_

* * *

**Part 2**

.

She sneered at him. "It was all passed at last night's board meeting. That's why Dad was so late home."

"You evil little bitch! I've done nothing wrong and all you can think of doing is punishing me. Well you can fucking stop that right now," he blazed at her, standing to point an irate digit in her direction.

"Should I? You're the one that landed me back here when I should have been by the Doctor's side and not… her! You're the reason I've been dumped without a word, an apology or a thank you for saving his and your arse." Rose couldn't stop the angry tears that had welled up as she let rip at him. "Why weren't you dumped with her and I was left with the Doctor? That's how it should have been."

He deliberately rolled his eyes as he sighed. "Oh shut the fuck up! Do you ever stop whinging? Her name is Donna, seeing as you seem to have forgotten her name, and yes, I should be with her and not you. But sorry, sweetheart; you won the prize."

"Then I want to give it back," she retorted petulantly.

"Sounds about right to me. I take it you won't give a rat's arse if I get up and leave today? Good! I have important plans that don't include you, so if you'll move out of my bloody way I'll leave you in peace."

He moved passed Rose and she tried to grab hold of the sleeve of his shirt. "You can't leave me! You're all I have left of him."

Vincent took hold of her fingers and slowly peeled them off his arm, glaring all the time. "Too little too late. Now get out of my fucking way."

Rose stepped back in shock. She hadn't ever expected him to react like this; especially where she was concerned. He was supposed to wait for her to finish yearning for the Doctor; remaining steadily as her backup man. What was happening? He loved her just as much as the Doctor so he should be begging her to help him, not waltz off without her! "Where are you going?" she almost screamed at his back as he ran nimbly up the stairs.

He momentarily halted to look down on her. "As far away from you and your backstabbing father as I can get," he called down.

Vincent!" she yelled up, stopping him in his tracks again. "All that talk about other women. You didn't really have them all, did you?"

He laughed contemptuously. "Did you honestly think I would keep myself pure for you? My, you have a fucking nerve expecting that!"

"But… but… but…," she stammered.

"Fuck off! You sound like a fucking outboard motor," he spat back and carried on running to his room.

He ignored her continued shouts proclaiming, "You love me! I know you do! Get down here!"

"Too fucking right I will," he mumbled to himself. "I'm way past all that now. You can find another bloke to ruin, princess."

* * *

The next time he saw Rose she was not looking so good.

Vincent threw himself down into the seat opposite her in a McDonald's on the outskirts of Brighton. "Okay, you got me here. What do you want?" he asked her ungraciously.

Rose blew her nose on a tissue she had extracted from her jacket pocket. He'd physically changed in the months since he'd left the mansion, having allowed his hair to grow and his sideburns to disappear. The clothing was different too, all dark and casual. "Is that it? No 'hello Rose' or anything?" she asked as she held back her tears.

He merely regarded her blankly. Nope, he couldn't make himself care very much. "Roxanne said you needed to talk to me desperately. Something about new rules, she said; all very hush hush. So stop fucking about and tell me, and then I can sod off."

"What has happened to you?" she wailed. "I've come here to ask for your help because suddenly I'm a wanted woman for letting you out of my sight that day."

He blew out a breath, sweeping his gaze over the restaurant and out into the street. Fucking typical! A faint smile appeared when he recognised someone outside. "Me? I've been living a life, Rose. One that apparently doesn't revolve around you. Are you asking me to hide you?"

Rose dropped her gaze and concentrated on her fingers. "Yes," she murmured.

He drew out a pen from his pocket, dragged a paper napkin across the table top, and wrote hastily. "This is an address I want you to go to. It's not too far from here. You are to go straight there and wait for me in the entrance hall, and no following me. Is that understood?"

She nodded reluctantly, not knowing what to think of him anymore. Once she would have thought of him as her saviour; a very long time ago.

"Good!" he proclaimed matter of factly. He stood up then and placed a £5 note on the table. "Get yourself something to eat. We'll sort everything else out when I see you. Bye."

"Bye," she mouthed back. All she had wanted was one word said in kindness; but at least he had not completely abandoned her.

Without a backward glance, he strode out of McDonald's and greeted a tall dark-haired man outside. Rose almost squawked with indignation when Vincent tenderly kissed him. She had not expected that! Nor did she expect him to wrap an arm around the man and saunter confidently off. Obviously having something of Donna in him was having an effect, she reasoned, trying not to shudder at the thought.

"Who's the bird?" Vincent's companion asked as soon as they were out of sight. "She looked like she was impersonating a panda crossed with a goldfish."

"I once had a relationship with her. We lived under the same roof for a while. You know the sort of thing; purely platonic and promised lots more," he explained.

"So she's the reason you are such a cantankerous bugger? Good job I'm here to pick up the pieces," his friend replied; and stopped walking in order to lean in intimately.

"Very good job," Vincent answered, willingly allowing the kiss to take place. "Play your cards right and I'll show you how grateful I am."

* * *

Rose was sitting waiting for him in the lobby of the hotel he had directed her to when he breezily appeared from within the confines of the corridors. "Ah, I see you got here okay. Come on; I've got you a room." He then clicked his fingers at her to follow.

She bristled angrily at the action but she followed nevertheless. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about the scene she had been witness to earlier, but she held it in until they reached a room on the first floor and he swiped the key card to get in. There was no way it could be described as grand, and it was far below the standard she had become accustomed to as the Vitex heiress; but there had been a time when she lived on the Powell Estate that this would have been classed as fancy.

As the door slammed itself shut she asked her question. "How long have you known you are gay?"

He had reached the window and was peering out at this point; he turned slowly to smirk at her. "That's merely a label, and I thought you were more mature than that. You disappoint me yet again, Rose Tyler. The universe is full of all sorts of things."

"What are you saying then? Are you bisexual... what?" she asked in confusion.

He chuckled. "You'd never know you had met Captain Jack Harkness. Or did you keep your eyes shut the whole time?" A swift dip followed as he opened the minibar and sought inquisitively through it, finally choosing a small bottle of whiskey to quench his thirst. Taking small sips from the bottle, he peered at her with open curiosity. "What? Run out of questions already?"

She wanted to smack him across the face! The smug arrogant prig. "Oh, I have plenty of questions. I'm just not sure whether you'll bother to answer them."

"If you don't ask you won't get," he stated as he took another sip. "I'm fine, thanks; by the way."

"So are Mum and Tony," she retorted.

"Clever girl! You almost impressed me then. I think you should be aware that these people know me as Peter Vincent Noble, just in case you are ever asked," he added conversationally. "But don't go wearing it out."

That hurt! Obviously he had chosen the name 'Noble' to upset her. Why couldn't he have used Smith or Tyler? What was so wrong with holding on to a tiny piece of them? A small strangled cry escaped passed her lips despite her best efforts. When he quirked an eyebrow at her she wanted to smack him clean across the face.

"Not feeling a little jealous by any chance, are you Rose?" he wondered knowingly. "I have other loyalties now. Talking of which…" He glanced at his watch. "…I have to be somewhere. I'll be back later." As he turned to leave he peered into the mirror above the wall unit and flicked a stray hair into place.

"Is that what you do down here? Are you a rent boy?" she asked with as much venom as she could muster.

He really could have been a Bond villain in another life. "There you go with the stereotypes again, Rose. I network and I acquire new skills. I don't think I want to tell you any more than that. Oh, and Rose…," he added as he opened the door and peered round it at her. "I'm fucking good."

There was no other word for it as his smug face disappeared from her sight: she hated him. Why did he feel the need to rub his promiscuity into her face? Doctor Vincent was the lowest of the low in her opinion. It was then that she realised that he had left with the room key, and she wanted to rant her frustration with him. If evil thoughts could kill he would have been stone dead in that moment.

Rose had been dozing on the bed when there was the sound of movement outside the room and the door was thrust open. She instantly sat up and waited to see what sort of entrance he would make. He was determined not be quiet about it.

"Hello Rosie!" he called out and swayed slightly on the spot. "Did you miss me?"

"Fortunately no," she replied, and waved a hand in front of her face when he staggered closer. "You reek of alcohol! How much have you drunk? You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Am I?" he seemed to ask himself. "Nope, not a jot. Alcohol can make life so much more interesting, don't you find? Take this evening for instance… I'd have never worn that feather thing if Sammy hadn't been plying me with brandy all night."

"I don't want to know about your sexual exploits, thank you very much. It's bad enough I have to keep looking at you," she complained.

He opened his mouth wide and pressed his tongue up behind his top teeth, adding in a small wink. "Such a shame that. Other people have been far luckier. I've been told I'm a very tasty geezer." He then danced a pirouette across the carpet in front of the TV. "Aren't you going to thank me? I've arranged for you to be taken to be taken down to the south of France, to the lovely little village of La Fortuna."

"Why?"

"Because the family need an au pair and you need a job," he answered. He then swung closer to her. "Now say 'thank you, Peter'."

She scowled. "Why should I do that, Peter?"

He struck out and grabbed her around the throat.


	3. Chapter 3

_Previously:_

_She scowled. "Why should I do that, Peter?"_

_He struck out and grabbed her around the throat._

* * *

**Part 3**

.

"As you are well aware, Peter happens to be my name now. Don't push your fucking luck with me or I will forget the fact that I am doing this for Jackie's sake," he said very calmly and evenly.

His angry eyes bored into her, leaving her no option but to apologise. This Doctor had a threatening quality that could turn far more violent and abusive.

Peter released his hold on her and practically threw her away from him. "Now that we've sorted that out you need to know that you have to get the fuck out of here by ten o'clock and your arse over to this place." He then drew out a business card from his inside pocket and handed it to her. "I'm assuming you still carry your passport around with you, or get some gullible sod to run after you with it. Bye, Rose. You might see me one day, if you're lucky."

With a parting glare at each other, he left her on her own to consider what would happen next. "She didn't even get the reference," he quietly griped as he stormed down the hotel corridor.

* * *

Outside on the street he waited until he was well away from the building before he leaned against a low railing and caught his breath. It was almost over, he told himself. He could almost consider the debt repaid and Rose Tyler was no longer his responsibility. What amazed him was that she hadn't even thought to ask why he had chosen his name; there hadn't been an ounce of polite curiosity. Not that he had expected her to, but it would have been nice if she had bothered. 'Go for the anger,' he repeatedly told himself. Anger was nice and warm; protecting him from the harsh coldness of that world. He hated being there with every fibre of his being; but if he had his way he wouldn't be there for too long.

Part of his grand plan had been acquiring the means to make the technology he required. It had meant endless nights of entertaining people and schmoozing them into providing information, money or necessary skills. Nothing was deemed below him in his quest for freedom, especially if the pain was numbed with sufficient alcohol. It was truly amazing how powerful a drug it was.

"Are you alright, mate?" a passing woman asked him as he stayed bent over the railings.

He stood up and instantly recognised her from some shindig he had been at the previous week. "Yes, thanks. Just a bit too much to drink. It was a good night though."

She clearly knew who he was, and laughed at him. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she advised him with a teasing smile.

He smiled politely back, but he wasn't convinced there wasn't much she wouldn't do for the right price. Much the same as himself, he noted. Everything has its price in the end, and he was well aware what his was. It was his goal after all.

With that reaffirmed in his mind, he straightened up his clothing, brushed a hand over his hair, and headed for his current home. Not that it looked like it was going to remain his home for much longer. Brian was a lovely bloke but he had almost used up his usefulness to this cause; and someone else was hovering on the horizon. Her name was Lady Arabelle de Carne. Did he care that she was old enough to be his mother? Not a jot! She had connections, and that was all he cared about. The main one being her brother, the Archbishop of Westminster.

Yes, that religious artefact would be his very soon. He could almost smell the power it would bring him; it was so tangible. That irritating bray of a laugh of hers could be endured until he achieved that particular goal. There was no reason to doubt his motives.

'_But there is…'_ a voice whispered to him on the wind. A voice that was uncannily like Donna's.

"No! Don't do this to me!" he demanded, pointing angrily at the sky. "I'm not just doing this for myself, you ungrateful bitch. I'm doing this for you; for us." A sob tried to force itself out from his chest via his throat, and he desperately fought to keep it down. "Please don't do this to me. You know I'd do anything to save you. Don't doubt me now when the end might be in sight. So… I've done a few sexual favours; haven't we all? It's not like I've sold my soul to the devil or anything."

'_Are you sure_…?' the voice queried.

"Of course I'm fucking sure! Although I'd sell my soul to bloody Rupert the Bear if I had to." He let out a chuckle then at the absurdity of that. A chuckle that became a proper laugh, and then became suspiciously close to hysteria to his trained ear. "Okay, I won't sell my soul; but you'd better be thankful."

'_I will…'_ the voice promised, and he felt himself become perfectly calm and peaceful as he heard it. He had his motivation and his means; what else did he need?

* * *

High above a nightclub, lit up by several fluorescent lights, was a banner proclaiming the appearance of the famous and renowned magician Peter Vincent there tonight. It was to be the finale of his celebrated tour of Britain, having returned from the delights of Las Vegas. Every newspaper had been full of his success; both as a magician and as tabloid fodder.

Peter cared little about the newspapers, his only concern was the show he was about to put on. It had to be perfect. He could not help smiling broadly as his driver swept up to the club entrance, and he stepped out to be greeted by enthusiastic fans. They were the gravy to all this. His true goal lay on the stage.

The noise from the nightclub spilled out onto the pavement. It had an indistinct tune but the beat was very clear; as was the volume. It was intended to seduce and entice with its rhythm, not appease anyone that would possibly listen to it. The loudness combined with the dullness made Peter's head hurt. You'd think he would have built a proper immunity to it after all this time, but it still pounded his sensitivities, firing his mood into irritation.

"Oi! Did Gary set up the new prop?" he called out to the stage manager as he tried to be heard over the din.

Phil nodded back at him. "I think so, Mr Vincent. He was here up until about twenty minutes ago."

Peter acknowledged the information and strode towards the stage. He smiled in satisfaction when he spotted the booth he had designed, feeling the thrill of anticipation as he did so. This could be it; his salvation. Lovingly, he stroked a hand over the cabinet, aware of every nuance within its structure. Gary had no idea what this little baby was capable of, he only ferried it about and did the heavy work.

There had been the temptation to try out this item during the previous evening's performance, but tonight was to be special. Everything had to work perfectly to gain the precise effect he wanted. A woman approached him on the stage and he greeted her by saying, "Hello, Ginger."

She grimaced back at him. "That joke never gets old," she said sarcastically.

The joke being that she was a dark-haired Latino woman, or so she thought. He let her carry on thinking that. "Has my guest arrived yet?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could. In fact he was almost stomping at the bit to know if she had turned up yet.

"Yes," 'Ginger' drew out the syllable into one long sarcastic sigh. "Your bimbo is in the dressing room."

A broad grin spread across his features. "Good!" he enthused. "I'd better go and get changed. This performance should be wonderful."

"You, perform wonderfully? Where do you get your information," she wondered as she sauntered off.

He gestured rudely at her departing back. "Fucking bitch!" he uttered to no one in particular.

There was something about her that he quite liked; probably her sassiness now that he thought about it. He was going to miss her. He was hoping she'd miss him even more, especially in the bedroom. Having a casting couch worked in his favour most of the time. In his mind's eye he ticked off all the attributes of his latest line-up of assistants. All of them had been very personally chosen by him. Well, there had to be some perks to the job.

Suddenly the comforting figure of Gary appeared to stage right. "It's all ready, Mr Vincent," he called out cheerily. "I'm off home now before I visit Mum in hospital, but I've got my mate Kevin to cover for me. He's the one that took over from Bill that time."

"Oh yes," Peter answered, pleased that the memory was a good one. It didn't pay to have unreliable stage hands, especially in his line of business. After all, he only had the one life to play with in this existence. "Wish your mum good luck from me."

Gary watched Peter walk off to his dressing room whilst wondering what the hell had gotten into him. It wasn't like Peter to acknowledge he had a mum let alone pass on any good wishes! Anyone would think it was Christmas or something… Was Peter dying? Stranger things rarely happened.

* * *

An hour and a half later Peter was standing in the wings waiting to go on. Some flimsily costumed girls appeared by his side, and he delightfully noted the inclusion of one particular person. "Hello, Rose. How nice of you to join me," he smoothly greeted her.

She pawed at her outfit, lifting it over her breasts to sit properly. "Hi. I don't understand why you wanted me to be here tonight. Are you showing me off to anyone special?" she wondered.

He shrugged dismissively. "I don't have one singular person in mind. All I need you to do is stand on the stage, look pretty and witness my new act."

"I can do that," she said confidently.

"Yes, I know. That's why I fucking asked you here," he remarked, and walked away before she had a chance to think of a retort.

One of the other assistant's patted her on the arm in comfort. "Don't take it personally, love. He's an out and out wanker."

Rose eyed him suspiciously. "I thought that too."

Dramatic music started to be played out front, and they all took their starting places.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we present for the second time tonight the one, the only, magician extraordinaire… Mr Peter Vincent!" the announcer yelled down his microphone; and the audience went wild in anticipation.

Peter stepped out wearing his now trademark outfit of black leather trousers, a long close-fitting overcoat, carefully applied eye makeup, black nail polish, shoulder-length hair, several facial piercings, tattoos on various parts of his body, a moustache and a goatee beard. The look could not have been further from the Doctor if he had tried. Your average gothic magician, basically; and he loved it!

Without saying a word he gestured dramatically towards the magic cabinet and his assistants. The audience waited with baited breath to see what would happen next.

There was an unwanted loud BANG! This was closely followed by puffs of acrid smoke all over the stage as a haze drifted out over the audience.

"I'm sorry, Mr Vincent," the lead technician fawned appropriately offstage. "I'll restore the power right away."

"You'd fucking better," Peter retorted testily; then a wonderful blue haze started to glow around the performance booth. He stood tall and proud, taking a final breath before announcing to the whole room, "And now the finest illusion I shall ever perform!"

This was it! This was the moment when he would gain his ultimate revenge as Rose Tyler stood nearby, and life could only get better.

Taking another dramatic pose, he stepped into the booth as the blue haze increased and engulfed him. Rose looked terrified and then increasingly angry. Yes, this was going to be so good…

With a self-satisfied smug grin to his assistants, Peter Vincent twinkled out of existence and that alternative universe; leaving behind a now defunct portal.

He was on his way home. Next stop Donna.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** We finally get to see what Donna has been up to; and where I managed to include **hopefuldawn**. :D

* * *

_Previously:_

_He was on his way home. Next stop Donna._

* * *

**Part 4**

.

Oh fuck! Peter woke up feeling more than dazed, with every part of his body aching. A warm smiling face was looking down at him as he realised he was lying in a hospital bed. "Where the fuck am I?" he inevitably tried asking.

"Hello," the woman said brightly, ignoring the swearing having heard the like many times in A&E. "You are currently in a hospital. The Royal Hope. Do you remember what happened to you?"

He read the name badge emblazoned on her lapel. 'Doctor D. Hope' it said. A chuckle wormed its way out of him. Talk about ironic, or symbolic! He'd have to decide which after asking a probing question. "Do you have a glass of Vitex, please?" he hoarsely asked.

Dr Hope frowned. "Sorry, what is 'Vitex'? I've never heard of that."

Peter wanted to punch the air in joy! This meant he had made it back to the right universe. "Water, please," he replaced the request; and a cool glass of water was quickly thrust into his hand.

As he sipped it, Dr Hope asked him again, "Do you know what caused you to be found unconscious in the street?"

He eyed her suspiciously over the edge of his glass. How much should he actually tell? This could be a bit tricky. With a shake of his head, he answered, "I'm not really sure. Has anyone been asking about me?"

"No, only the police officer who found you. She was very concerned," Dr Hope supplied.

A wince of pain stopped him trying to sit up a bit more in the bed. "Fuck! Sorry. I'm called Peter Vincent Noble, I work in the entertainment business and I think I might have fallen. Beyond that I don't know, so I can't answer your question. What were the symptoms?"

* * *

Donna suddenly gasped awake. Her dream had been so vivid; a man had been calling out to her, begging her to look his way. But every single time she tried to turn her head a cage had appeared to block her in, choking the life out of her and she called to him to help free her from the prison.

'_I'm coming…'_ he had shouted, as clear as a bell, in her head.

She was sure it was the same man she had often spoken to in the past; but this time he didn't seem so lost and down as usual. This time he had sounded excited and full of hope. It made her pulse race in excitement too; as though she might actually see him properly soon. How daft was that?

A quick glance as the bedside clock proclaimed it to be only 5am. Miles too early to get up yet; but she didn't feel inclined to return to that dream. It had deeply worried her. Not for herself; no, she had felt perfectly safe despite the iron bars. Her concern had been for the man who had called out so desperately. There was something so deep-seated within him that needed her to gaze upon him, as though the very act would free him from his own torture. So vivid was it that she could swear he was touchable; but her waking life proved otherwise, and she felt despondent as a consequence.

Sighing, she pulled across a book to read until it was time to get up and go to work. The day should be pretty good because she had been given a temporary position at the local police station dealing with data. If she was really lucky she'd get to transcribe a prisoner's statement! It always amused her how much of what was said had to be adapted for a legal document. And to top it all she would get to work with the lovely WPC Kendall and hopefully the hunky DCI Brandon. She'd jumped for joy when he had appeared on the local news the week before and she could point him out to her mum.

"Who's been keeping you up late?" WPC Michelle Kendall asked Donna when she saw her yawning later that day in the station office. "Was it that bloke from the bank?"

Donna laughed. This had become a running joke between them, as the man she had referred to was clearly not interested. "Watch it, Michelle! You're just jealous because he pays me more attention than you," she teased.

Michelle smirked back and idly picked up a piece of paper when she remembered that she had something specific to say to Donna. "Guess what," she opened her news with. "That poor man I picked up yesterday and took to the hospital might be a relative of yours."

"Do you mean the one with all the leather?" Donna queried. "What makes you think that?"

Michelle held up the paper as evidence. "It says here that he has woken up and given his name as Peter Vincent Noble."

"No!" Donna strung out the syllable in disbelief. "I hardly ever hear of anyone with my surname and you just happen to stumble on someone within a few miles of home. Isn't that strange?"

"He looks nothing like you," Michelle added as though it would be a consolation. "But he had a nice face."

"My mum says that about any man between the ages of 35 and 40 who isn't married and still breathing… or should I say that she feels the need to say that to me," Donna told her. "Has he got any relatives?"

"Says here he can't remember but doesn't think so. That must be weird, waking up in a hospital knowing next to nothing about yourself," Michelle answered her question. "I'm not sure how I'd cope with such a memory loss."

Donna shrugged her shoulders defensively. "You just get on with it, really."

"Oh Donna! I am so sorry! I didn't mean to make light of your problem," Michelle quickly apologised.

Donna smiled to ally her fears. "Don't worry; I'm not offended. Although losing over two years of my life does make me sympathetic to his plight."

"Perhaps you ought to go and show him some Noble solidarity," Michelle mused, meaning it as a joke.

But Donna increasingly didn't find it funny. In fact the idea started to appeal to her more and more throughout the day, so that by the time she headed for home she was in two minds to go and visit this poor Peter bloke.

* * *

Peter tried to shift in his bed and groaned in pain. Every single part of him seemed to hurt, which seemed a terrible shame since he was convinced Dr Hope fancied him. He was sure he could get around the patient-doctor confidentiality clause if push came to shove. A slow smile spread across his mouth as he thought about; and he had to suppress a laugh when he thought about her name. Laughing was especially painful. The joke was that Dr Hope's name was Dawn. Can you imagine the register entry in school? Hope Dawn. It was a joke all on its own. What he'd like to do to her wasn't. What with all that lovely ginger hair, those intense blue eyes, that clever, clever mouth…

He turned over, grinning; and found himself looking straight at Donna. "Fucking hell!" he cried out in shock.

"I'm terribly sorry," she instantly said as she stepped nearer to sooth him.

A tender hand was laid on his arm and then he found himself gazing into her compassionate eyes; causing his breath to stutter in his throat. "Who…?" he started to ask.

She smiled softly at him, making his insides melt. "Of course, you don't know me from Adam. I heard about you from WPC Kendall. She's the one that found you injured in the street. Do you mind if I sit down?" Without giving him a chance to answer, she brought the bedside chair closer and sat down on it, and returned to looking at him expectantly.

He knew what was coming; she was working her way up to asking an awkward question. One that she feared would pain him. "It's nice of you to come here," he encouraged her.

Donna blushed. "You must think I'm mad to turn up here like this, but when I was told your name and what had happened, I… well, I just had to come and talk to you." She picked up her handbag and fidgeted absently with the clasp. "It seems like too much of a coincidence that you should lose some of your memory and you sharing the same name as me." It was only then that she risked looking back up at him as she waited for his verdict.

"Are you saying you're called 'Peter'?" he joked, gaining the smile of relief he was after.

"No, silly! I'm talking about being a Noble."

"That's good, otherwise it would have been a little bit awkward us both answering to the same name; although technically that can still happen," he reasoned.

"What can still happen?" asked a nurse as she swept up to his side and lifted up his wrist to take his pulse rate. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Peter?"

Peter was momentarily taken aback. "Oh, erm, this is…" And then he realised that Donna hadn't actually told him her name yet so he couldn't introduce her properly. He could have pretended he'd used some sort of mind trick but he had the feeling that it wouldn't go down very well.

Fortunately Donna took over at that point. She peered at the nurse's name tag before asking, "Is he still alive, Nurse Sutton? I'm Donna. Donna Noble."

Nurse Sutton smiled knowingly. "So you've found your wife! That's nice." She bustled about, writing on his chart and giving him no chance to deny the relationship as he battled with his shock. "Nice to meet you, Donna. It must have a relief to find him. Any questions you might have, come and see us at the nurses' station and we'll sort you out." She then swept away to deal with her next patient.

The two of them at the bed shared an embarrassed glance.

"Do you normally get married off to the nearest woman?" Donna teased him to lighten the mood.

'No. Only you,' hovered on the tip of his tongue in answer; but he resisted it. Instead he cheekily told her, "Marriage isn't normally on the cards, only the marriage bed."

She rolled her eyes at the implied boast. "I see… You're a bit of a tart. Am I supposed to be impressed by that?"

"Some of it you are," he admitted. "But I'll leave that entirely up to you."

'Oh dear!' she thought. "Perhaps I ought to leave," she suggested.

"No, don't go!" he cried out desperately. "I mean, you're the first friendly face that isn't paid to be that way. I don't know why you were kind enough to come here, but I'm very grateful that you did." He wanted to keep her there while he seared her image into his mind; he didn't know when he would be able to see her again.

She made a play of considering her watch. "Alright, I'll stay a bit longer. Until you've captured my image properly or the leaving bell goes."

"How did you know that?" Peter asked. She shouldn't have known unless… unless she was able to hear him. Was that possible? It would explain the voice business and he wasn't being delusional. "Fucking brilliant!" he exclaimed to himself.

"Oi! There's no need to be so full of yourself, Peter," she chided him before she realised she was doing it. "Just you wait until I get you home."

Another, younger nurse came scuttling up to them as she pensively cradled a clipboard and an open patient notebook. She pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose nervously and considered the task she had to carry out. "Can I bother you both for just a moment?" The attention was focused onto Donna. "You are Donna Noble, right?"

Donna suitably agreed. There was much scribbling on the sheet of paper.

"And where do you live, Donna?"

"34, Staveley Road, Chiswick," she supplied.

Much more scribbling. "Do you have a contact number? And your GP's name?"

Donna supplied that, and only then thought to ask, "Why do you need to know all this about me and my doctor?"

"Why?" Confusion met its companion as the young nurse frowned, causing her tight curls to bounce around the perimeter of her face. "So that I can update your husband's records and get him sorted out."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** the poem mentioned is by Alice Meynell.

* * *

_Previously:_

"_Why?" Confusion met its companion as the young nurse frowned, causing her tight curls to bounce around the perimeter of her face. "So that I can update your husband's records and get him sorted out."_

* * *

**Part 5**

.**  
**

"But…" Donna strove to work out the best way to politely word the protest 'not a chance in hell!' without offending Peter. This was starting to get serious!

"Nurse, what Donna is trying not to tell you is that we haven't lived together as man and wife in quite a while," Peter volunteered. "We're at a very tricky stage of our relationship. Can I get back to you when we know what we are doing ourselves?" He couldn't believe how calm and collected he sounded even to his own ears. Normally he would have been swearing and raising the roof by now with his anger; but there was just something highly amusing about all this. In fact it was surreal being with Donna and mistakenly identified as her husband. There was a familiar ring to it that soothed him more than he had anticipated.

"Oh!" the nurse exclaimed, not knowing quite how to deal with the news. "Is it okay that I leave it as it is for the time being? Or shall I go and ask Staff Nurse Okonedo?"

"Well?" Peter asked Donna. "It's up to you."

"Oh go on then," she decided with an exasperated sigh. "But if I start getting strange letters addressed to you I shall come and hunt you down."

Peter turned to beam at the nurse. "There you go; all sorted. No need to get the staff nurse involved at all. I, on the other hand, run the risk of physical harm if I don't change the details later."

They both gained a relieved smile from the young nurse. "Thank you both. I wish you luck with sorting out the whole…erm… marriage thing."

She then practically ran away from them in an embarrassed flurry, and Donna found herself sharing a laugh with Peter before she knew it. "Blimey! This is like that advert where they meet on the speed date and have every single argument they could have as a couple within their two minutes. We only have to have fictitious children to top it off."

"That can easily be arranged," he replied, grinning like an idiot as he considered her. "How many fake children do you fancy having with me? I quite like the idea of three."

"Three?" She baulked at the idea of that number. "You'd be lucky to get as far as two, Sunshine! I'm no spring chicken."

He swept an appreciative gaze at her body. "No, not spring chicken. I'd say more like a deliciously mature sirloin steak."

"You flatterer!" she admonished him as she batted at his arm. "I can tell you've been practicing. What else do you do with your time?"

"Lie about in fucking bed mostly," he answered honestly, unconsciously thumping the mattress below him in frustration. "I woke up in here not knowing much about myself or how I came to be so injured. I have the feeling I have local family and that I'm in the entertainment business, but beyond that… I can't say," he said forlornly.

Her face crumpled compassionately. "Poor Peter! Do you even know what you look like? I found that I could remember that part about me."

The question about his looks hadn't even occurred to him! "I haven't checked if anything is different," he admitted, finding his mood lowering as he noticed her miserable expression. Did he look like a bag of spanners now? Was he covered in terrible bruising? Had his damn good looks been obliterated? That would be awful! He felt himself start to hyperventilate; which was a whole experience all on its own.

Instantly Donna was soothing him, resting her calming hands on his arm and crooning with soft words. "You look fine; a bit battered in places but that's it. In next to no time you'll be leading some poor woman a merry dance by cheating with a series of floozies, no doubt. Here, hang on…" She then rifled through the contents of her handbag, obviously searching for something. "I knew I had one!" And she handed him a small mirror. "Well, are you the person you thought you were? Or did that beard creep up and kidnap you one day?"

'Cheeky cow!' he thought as he eagerly took the mirror and peered at himself; moving it around to glimpse himself at different angles. The hair was a mess; he made a mental note to get it styled as soon as he could. His face was extremely pale, with small bruises, dark shadows under the eyes and holes where he had lost his piercings. All traces of his usual makeup were missing too. It was strange to see his face so naked and vulnerable. Someone had even washed off his stage tattoos. He was barely recognisable as Peter Vincent; leaving behind Vincent Noble as he used to be.

A sob welled up from somewhere as the eyes regarding him stared hauntingly back. He didn't want to be that person again! He wanted to go back to being confidant, arrogant, Peter Vincent who took no bullshit from anyone. As his eyes filled up a pair of arms enveloped him, hugging him close to her chest; comforting him when it was supposed to be the other way around. "I know," she said quietly so that only he could hear. "I know exactly what you are going through."

With those empathetic words and that level of sympathy who would blame him for seeking comfort from her? He clung to her warmth, luxuriating in his luck that he had found her and was now allowed to enjoy this moment. Gentle sobs escaped his lips, but she didn't do anything but accept that, and rocked him within her embrace. If he had been allowed he would have stayed like that forever. He never wanted to let her go. He needed her like he had never ever needed anyone before in his life; not even poor Rose… That thought shot a pang of guilt through him. There was no other way of describing his behaviour towards her than utterly horrible. She had needed him to understand her dilemma and all he had done was judge her harshly.

"It doesn't matter, it's all in the past now," Donna whispered into his ear; and he felt peace for the first time in ages. He had been forgiven and absolved by her; and that was the only thing important to him.

"Thank you," he whispered back, not bothering to hide the sniff that accompanied it. What could he keep hidden from her now? She was his other half; they completed each other. The connection was so clear now that they were in physical contact, drawing him nearer like a magnet. When the visiting bell sounded he unashamedly clung onto her hand, begging her, "Please come back and see me another time."

She held in a chuckle. Why did blokes have to be such children? Instead she caressed his cheek and stroked her fingers down his beard. "I'll come back, I promise; and not because the staff here have made up all sorts of domestic stories about us. Is there anything you need me to bring? Toothpaste, deodorant, pyjamas?"

"All of the above," he answered sheepishly. "I have nothing except the things they found me in. I'll pay you back eventually; I promise."

"Too right you will!" she snorted. "And if I really want to be mean I'll force you into that marriage; so be warned, Mr Noble."

He laughed then in sheer delight. It felt good to be taken under her wing. "My heart shall be thy garden," he muttered.

"Did you just quote poetry at me?" she asked in shock.

"I erm… yes. Sorry," he sheepishly replied. "I hope I haven't blown it with our friendship before we've even started."

"Nah! You're safe," she reassured him. "Don't do it again, alright? Save it for some bird that you want to impress. There are plenty of college types about who'll lap it up."

He let go of her hand then, knowing she was desperate to get away from his attention because she didn't cope very well with genuine flattery. "Will do. So I'll see you again on…?"

"I'll be back tomorrow; with a bag of goodies, before you ask." Donna then awkwardly bent forward and kissed his cheek. "Be a good boy for the nurses; for some reason I get the impression you have been on your best behaviour with me."

He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at her. "I think you might be right. I shall have to remedy that."

The thought of pointing out a doctor would be needed for that halted her possible retort. "Keep laughing, my little cavalier. I'll see you later. Bye!"

"Bye; and thanks again for coming to see me, Donna," he told her sincerely. And he reluctantly watched her walk away. Never mind; she would be back. There was no doubt in his mind that she would keep her promise.

* * *

Donna entered the hallway and heard concerned voices from within the kitchen. "Hello! I'm home!" she shouted out. Yes, the sudden quietness confirmed that they had been discussing her in her absence. How wizard!

"Hello, love," Sylvia greeted her as she walked cautiously into the kitchen. "Did you get to see your friend at the hospital, and would you like a cuppa?"

"Please!" Donna answered as she plonked her bag down and wearily sat in a chair. "I erm, I have a sort of confession to make. My friend in the hospital… I didn't know him before today."

"Aye aye! Like that, is it?" Wilf teased her from his side of the table. "Met a new man that's medical."

Something within her stopped her from denying that. "He was found badly injured yesterday, by Michelle."

"Which one is Michelle again?" Wilf queried

"She's the one that's the policewoman," Sylvia supplied as she sat down with them. "What about him, Donna?"

"You're going to think this is daft, but I went and visited him because he has suffered some memory loss, and…" She nervously fidgeted with the paper napkin that had been lying on the table top, not quite wanting to own up to her curiosity. "He said his surname was Noble, so I thought I'd go and be nosey, and see if I recognised him."

"And did you?" Sylvia had opened her mouth to ask this but Wilf had beaten her to it.

"That's the really weird thing! I sort of did. Yes, I know that sounds stupid; but… I feel… I don't know how to say this," she ground out with frustration.

"Just try," Sylvia coaxed.

Why was this so hard? It should be simple to say that she had just met a man that she felt she had connected with on a whole different level; like he was part of her and had appeared in her dreams. Except she probably shouldn't bandy that last fact about. It could bring her a whole world of grief. And of course they would ask if she fancied him. Did she? She knew she loved him…

That shocked her! This feeling of love that she had towards him as though she had to nurture and protect him. He was a grown man, for goodness sake! He was perfectly capable of looking after himself; especially where women were concerned. He definitely had manly wiles. So why would he need her? Apart from buying him pyjamas and toothpaste, that is.

It was almost as if he provoked her maternal side.

Damn this feeling! She already cared far too much for a stranger who only wanted to know her because no one else was there for him. Absolutely no one else.

"Donna! What is it?" Wilf asked with great concern. "Don't cry. We'll sort this out. You get yourself off to bed, and we'll talk about this tomorrow."

She sniffed and cuffed at her nose before replying. "Thanks, Gramps. It's just that I know what it's like to go without your memories."

"I know, love." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't you ever stop caring, do you hear me?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** they still won't stop yabbering! And I had to stop Donna doing something. ;D

* * *

_Previously:_

_She sniffed and cuffed at her nose before replying. "Thanks, Gramps. It's just that I know what it's like to go without your memories."_

"_I know, love." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't you ever stop caring, do you hear me?"_

* * *

**Part 6**

**.  
**

After a great deal of effort she eventually managed to fall asleep, only to dream about Peter. He was crying again, and she wrapped him up to cuddle him tightly. All she wanted to do was stop the pain and sooth away his anger. There was an unbelievable amount of anger within him that she felt was all her fault. If it hadn't been because of some stupid action of hers he would be happy.

'_NO!'_ he screamed as she tried to release the pressure of the anger, forcing it from his body into her own. A ball of boiling fury appeared that pulsated in the void between them, sending her reeling backwards and completely knocking the stuffing out of her until she fell like a rag doll.

'_It doesn't matter, I have nothing to live for,' _she assured him as his face crumpled into grief. _'I willingly give it all up for you.'_

His hand shot out towards her; imploring her to change her mind. _'No, I came all this way to find you, not lose you. I will stop this. I promise. You are the most important woman in all creation.'_

She could feel herself standing on the edge of a precipice. It was now or never, and all she had to do was step over the edge to free him forever. _'Why?'_ she demanded to know. _'Why am I that important?' _

'_You saved us all. You gave up so much, and… and…' _He took a gulp as he wrestled with the information. _'…you are the reason I'm alive.'_

She felt the wind whip around her head, making her doubt what she had just heard. He couldn't mean that, surely? What did it mean? There was undoubtedly a strong connection between the two of them, but were they lovers or mother and child? The howling gale didn't help her thought processes, nor did the oppressive clouds that thundered around them.

His outstretched fingertips had almost reached her; she was within his grasp if he could just push himself nearer. As she finally attempted to grab his hand she was suddenly picked up by a strong gust. His screams were eaten up by the foul winds that swept her away from him, stealing every breath in his body as a huge bolt of lightning pain shot through his body.

"Peter!" Someone was shaking his shoulder insistently. "Peter wake up. You're having a bad nightmare," the voice informed him.

He woke up to find Nurse Sutton's concerned face hovering over him. There was sweat all over his body, soaking his hair, and his heart was racing at nineteen to the dozen. "A dream?" he asked pathetically.

Something was pumped into his vein, and the last words he heard were, "I think we should inform your wife about this."

He felt guilty but happy that Donna was being summoned. It meant she would be there soon.

* * *

Donna was greeted with the words, "You look dreadful!" when she arrived for breakfast.

"Thanks for that, Mum," she answered sarcastically. "It's just what I wanted to hear."

"Oi! Don't shoot the messenger," Sylvia griped back. "Did you have a bad night?"

Donna eagerly accepted the cup of tea her mother was offering her, along with two slices of toast and marmalade. "Yeah. I couldn't get to sleep and then I was dreaming about Peter. I'm really worried about him and how he'll get on once he's a bit better. Michelle said that they tend to send such people to a hostel."

"Ah, you're talking about your memory man. I see." Sylvia sat looking at her thoughtfully. "You're going to do something stupid like offer him a home, aren't you? Well don't!" She then stirred her own cup of tea. "When were you going to visit him again?"

"I said I'd pick up a few things for him; like toothpaste and that. Probably tonight, if that's okay with you," Donna said; although she wasn't seeking permission, not by a long chalk.

"Yes, that's fine with me, madam," Sylvia replied sarcastically.

Any further argument was halted by the home phone ringing.

"I wonder who that could be," Sylvia openly mused as she went to answer it. A couple of seconds later she yelled out, "Donna! It's for you! They say they are calling from the hospital!"

"Alright! No need to shout," Donna grouched as she took the receiver from her mother. "Hello. Yes, speaking. Is he? No of course I can come. I'll need to pick up a few things first and I'll be with you as soon as possible. No problem. Bye!"

"Well? What did they want?" Sylvia demanded to know.

"It's…" She waved a finger vaguely. "Peter had a bit of a bad turn and they want me to get there. I'll need the car if that's okay."

Sylvia merely waved her question off. As if any objection from her would count when Donna was in one of her determined moods! Instead she mentally added this elusive Peter to a future eating plan, since Donna tended to take home her picked up waifs and strays; and he certainly sounded lost.

* * *

A quick ten minute trip in Tesco meant Donna was soon striding into the hospital ward with a bag full of goodies for Peter. She found that he had been moved nearer to the nurses' station; never a good thing that. "What did you do?" she playfully asked him when she eventually arrived by his bedside. "Throw your rattle out of your pram?"

He glared at her. To think he'd been ecstatic that they'd told him she was on her way. "I didn't do a fucking thing! All I did was have a massive nightmare and I'm told I had some sort of seizure. Can you believe that?"

"Yes, I can," she replied more softly, sitting herself down by the side of the bed. "Will this put back when they'll let you out of here?"

With a petulant pout he sagged back onto his pillow. "I don't know. They're not telling me anything. Do you think you can find out for me?"

"It'll mean I'll have to pretend I'm your wife for a bit longer. You might mind more than you think you will," she warned him.

What did he have to lose? "Go on, try for me, please!" He turned his most pathetic look on her, and she laughed at his antics.

"Here comes Mrs Noble, round two," she joked as she stood up. She shot him a cheeky wink and then purposefully headed for the nurses' station, determined to get some answers.

* * *

"You were late in this morning," Michelle commented when she saw Donna at lunchtime. "I wondered what had happened to you."

"Don't play the innocent with me," Donna teased her. "It's your fault I'm in up to my neck."

"Why? What's happened?" Michelle asked. She sat herself down next to Donna expectantly. If she knew Donna there would be a tasty tale of woe to be told, full of points to laugh at.

Donna huffed. "Well, I went to see Peter Noble last night, didn't I? I had hardly been there five minutes when I was mistaken for his wife and all my details were extracted from me. I wouldn't mind but he conned me into doing so until he knows who he is. So as far as the NHS is concerned I'm Mrs Peter Noble, and I've just kicked him out."

"Trust you!" Michele openly laughed at her predicament. "How far exactly does this go?"

"Oh they've got me written down to look after him once they let him out. I got a desperate phone call from the ward sister this morning to get up there pretty sharpish because he'd had a fit and they needed my permission to do tests on him." Donna paused for breath and took a sip of her drink. "I could easily tell them the result right this second: he's a nutter that loves to base himself on the Laughing Cavalier. Don't get me wrong, he seems very sweet… in his own way; but I do object to the possibility of having to give him a bed bath."

"Oh I dunno; having seen him I'm sure there are a few women who wouldn't object to doing that little task," Michelle pointed out.

Donna went to amend that having seen him she definitely knew he wasn't little; but then she had to ask herself how the hell she had gained that information! Instead she blushed a deep red colour. "I may have done so for my Nan but that doesn't mean I want to do it for any old Tom, Dick or Harry."

Michelle patted a hand on her shoulder in consolation. "I'll tell you what, to make it up to you I'll see if I can find somewhere for him to live so that he doesn't have to move in with you and your mum. How's that sound?"

Donna smiled her gratitude as she ate her lunch. Although the thought of him moving into his own place brought other worries. What if they still expected her to look after him night and day? How the hell would she cope with that one? Being a pretend wife wasn't as much fun as it should have been. There hadn't even been cake.

* * *

True to her word, Michelle confronted Donna with a piece of card later that afternoon, grinning from ear to ear. "I've done it! I've gone and found your Peter somewhere to live for a few weeks," she boasted, practically dancing in her eagerness to pass this news on.

"Where?" Donna asked with keen interest, only just stopping herself from snatching the information out of Michelle's hand. Looking at the relevant card, she read out, "7, Dover Road, Chiswick. Ooh, that's only five minutes away from us, so I'll be able to keep an eye on him," she enthused. "I can't wait to tell him!"

"You're suddenly a bit keen," Michelle remarked teasingly. "Growing on you, is he?"

"Well… I…" Then to Donna's shame she blushed profusely. "He's a new friend; nothing more. I'm very concerned."

Michelle smirked. "Yes, I'm sure 'concerned' covers everything adequately. When are you seeing him again?"

Donna grimaced deliberately back. "I said I'd see him after work tonight. Shall I pass on your love?"

"Oh do!" Michelle threw at her as she began to walk away. "As long as I'm not cramping your style."

Donna growled threateningly at her and then got back to the data input she had been in the midst of dealing with.

* * *

When she made her way onto the ward later she was surprised to see Peter in his original nightwear. "What happened to the new pyjamas I bought you?" she asked as she sat down.

Peter glanced towards his bedside locker before reaching out to pull open one of the doors. "In here. They haven't had the chance to change them yet."

"Here, let me help you with that," she instantly offered. She leapt up to open the locker doors properly and drew out the plastic packaging. "No time like the present."

"Then do you think you could save me putting on a fucking show and close the curtains?" he asked testily.

"No problem!" she intentionally trilled brightly. What she hadn't bargained for was the fact that by the time she had swished the bed curtains closed he had almost thrown off the pyjama jacket the hospital had given him, baring his chest. His muscular, tanned, darkly hairy chest. The bed enclosure suddenly felt extremely hot!

"Earth to Donna! I'm going to need some help here," he called out to her, amused that the sight of his bare chest should have the effect of shutting her up. Perhaps he didn't look so skinny anymore to her? "I'm not as bendy as I normally am."

"Oh! Right!" she retorted as she shook off her brown study. 'Nice body,' she thought, 'very nice.' She helped ease the jacket onto his torso, lifting his arms carefully and giving in to the temptation to do up his buttons.

"I can do that!" he griped. "I'm not a complete fucking baby."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** slowly getting there...

* * *

_Previously:_

'_Nice body,' she thought, 'very nice.' She helped ease the jacket onto his torso, lifting his arms carefully and giving in to the temptation to do up his buttons._

"_I can do that!" he griped. "I'm not a complete fucking baby."_

* * *

**Part 7**

.

"Can my non-baby get out of the bed and go to the bathroom on his own yet?" she asked him pointedly.

"No. Okay, point taken, but don't take the mick!" he complained, going into a pout.

"As if I would!" she mocked him. "Now lift your bum and we'll have a go at getting the trousers on. And before you ask, I have seen it all before."

'Yes, I know you have,' he instantly thought, remembering that moment extremely well; not that she did. "For fuck's sake!" he cried out when the trousers didn't make it passed his hips easily and a jolt of pain raged through him.

"Sorry," she immediately apologised and tried to avert her gaze away from his exposed genitalia. It wasn't advisable to make any comment in that moment. In particular she had to avoid accidentally remarking how big he looked, because it would never do to say such a thing when your head is wedged up against someone's chest. A very male and hot someone.

With much huffing and puffing she eased the old trousers off and got the new ones on passed his feet. Now came the tricky bit, covering his bottom. He was having fun with this moment of intimacy since the nudity didn't bother him much at all, but it seemed to affect Donna's sensibilities quite a lot. "I'll try clinging onto your shoulders while you hitch them up," he suggested, and threw his arms around her neck.

He groaned as they jointly lifted him up; everything was still screaming in pain at him, but it had eased off in the two days he had been there. It was a sure sign that his healing ability was superior to a full human's, and boy was he thankful for that.

Donna wrestled with the cotton trousers, pulling them up as quickly as she could while coping with his weight, his nearness, and the intimate practicalities. "I think that's enough," she announced as she stepped away from him with relief.

At that moment Nurse Sutton swept in through the curtains. "Where you two…?" she demanded. "Because it isn't allowed."

Both of them denied all knowledge of such an action. "We were changing my pyjamas, nurse," Peter added as innocently as possible. "Donna here has been a godsend." He added emphasis by reaching out to grasp her hand, and smirked when she had to resist pulling away from him. "She's a game old girl."

"Oi! Less of the 'old', thank you very much!" Donna instantly protested. "You may be injured but that doesn't mean I won't eventually kill you."

He was in two minds to lay his hand on her thigh and gain that death sentence properly, but he thought better of it since the nurse was still hovering near his bedside. Obviously they had convinced her of their innocence because she turned and swished open the curtains before heading off to her next patient.

They shared a smirk as they watched the nurse go. "That was close. You need to live a little, Donna, and calm down too," he told her.

"And you, D'Artagnan, need a shave," she retorted.

He laughed at her in delight, touching his chin. "Yes, I think you're right. I need both a shave and a haircut. Is that what you've come to provide me with?"

"No, but I can give you something you need." She almost twinkled at him in her glee. "You'll never guess but I've found you somewhere to live; although when I say 'I' I really mean my friend WPC Kendall."

"You have? Oh Donna, I could kiss you!" he exclaimed.

She blushed modestly. "Yeah, enough of that. It's bad enough that they think we're married. We can't have them actually thinking you fancy me or anything."

He coughed. "Of course not. That would be bad; very bad."

There was a slightly disbelieving smirk on her lips. "I'm glad we agree"

Having bypassed that pitfall, he risked asking, "So… about this place. Where is it and what's it like?"

"Ooh, you'll love it!" she suddenly enthused. "It's quite neat, tucked away from all the hubbub; and it's only five minutes away from me so I can come and check in on you whenever you want me to."

"I'll be living all on my own? Oh. How will I cope at first? I can barely pull my trousers up," he reminded her.

She dismissed that problem. "We'll sort something out. Don't worry. What did the doctor say when they came round?"

"She said they'd done all the tests and I've got no STDs, no HIV, my white blood cell count is good and I'm healing nicely. They should be discharging me quite soon if I have somewhere to go," he supplied.

"They need the bed," she reasoned. "Well, all you would have done is lay about being waited on hand, foot and finger."

"Disgusting!" he playfully agreed. He then reached across and held her hand, running his fingers thoughtfully over the back of her hand and knuckles without looking directly at her. "It's going to be a few days until I can walk about easily, being a complete burden… on someone. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do."

It was a good job he couldn't see her expression at the moment because she was trying hard to stifle a laugh. Why couldn't he just come out and ask her straight? "Yes, it would be a burden," she agreed seriously. "Only someone who truly cared would bother to help you, or someone who needs their head examined, obviously."

His head jerked up. "Are you saying…?"

"Looks like it," she confirmed; and was heartened by the delight on his previously anxious face. "As fictitious wifely duties go I think this is pushing it a bit far. But it'll make the divorce miles easier."

"I promise, Donna, that I'll make this up to you. How do you fancy becoming my PA when I hit the road?" he asked expectantly.

She gazed back at him in confusion and surprise. "You've not even told me what sort of way you're likely to hit the road. What are you… an agent? Please tell me you don't sing opera."

Crooking his index finger, he beckoned her closer, and then whispered, "I don't sing opera, and never fucking shall."

"Thank gawd for that!" she happily exclaimed. "I don't understand a flipping word most of the time. Tell me then; what do you do?"

"I'm a magician," he proudly declared.

Her happy expression fell. "What have I let myself in for?" she wondered.

* * *

Two days later, Peter had been discharged from the hospital armed with a letter for his doctor and the keys to a one bedroomed flat. Michelle had welcomed him in and Donna… well, Donna had done everything to organise the flat. All the furniture she had held in storage from her own abandoned flat had been brought in by Wilf and his pals, Sylvia had scrubbed the place from top to bottom, and a few other items from the Mott/Noble home had made their way in there. He could not have been more grateful or touched if he had tried!

There had even been a small welcoming party, with cake and sandwiches supplied by Sylvia and her Wednesday Girls. This was an extremely good omen as far as he was concerned. Such a thing had never happened in the alternate universe. Within seconds the tiny flat felt like a home, filled with family; his new, partly-adopted family. And they had all waved off his thanks as unnecessary.

Obviously his painkillers were due, because he found himself welling up, and Donna had instantly been at his side to offer comfort and guide him into an easy chair. "I'm sorry," he hastily whispered. "I'm not used to people caring so much."

"Oh Peter!" she sympathised, and had instantly hugged him close.

He clung to her, basking in the positive thoughts that rolled over him from her mind. Did she gain his angsty ones in return?

Soon after, Sylvia had declared to everyone, "We'd better leave Peter to settle in on his own, as he looks tired."

There had been much agreement; making him wonder how bad he actually looked.

"I'll see you both later," Donna had called out to her mother and grandfather before closing Peter's front door. She had then returned to find Peter sitting pensively in his chair. Knowing he felt suddenly lost in the unfamiliar flat, she had quickly walked over and sat on the arm of his chair to drape an arm loosely over his shoulders. "Feeling ready for bed yet?" she asked as brightly as she could. "I'll put the telly on for you."

"That would be nice," he politely answered; too politely. "I suppose you have things to get back to."

"You silly sod!" She then ruffled his hair. "I'll make sure you are washed, changed and safely tucked up in bed before I go anywhere."

"Erm… about that, Donna." He risked a glance in her direction, causing her to wait for the request she expected. "Would you…? Oh fuck this, Donna! I'm worried I'll need help in the night."

'No you don't. You're worried about being here on your own,' she thought as she considered him carefully. Hmm. She tried to reason to herself that there was no way he could molest her in any way; plus, she was constantly aware of his background emotions, so there was no way he could suddenly surprise her like that. "It must be worrying," she agreed. "Okay, I'll stay tonight, but don't expect me to be your live-in nurse for longer than that."

He smiled gratefully at her. He knew she felt a deep-seated sympathy for him, one that he shouldn't really exploit; but his relief was too tangible to allow her to escape from him yet. It was especially welcome to have her stay because she knew he could move about a lot more easily now and hadn't called him on it. Using his sweetest smile, he asked his leading question, "Are you sleeping on the settee? Only you could, if you like, sleep on the bed with me."

So that was what he wanted, was it? Why was it a surprise that he wanted her to be his life-size version of a teddy bear? "If you snore I warn you, I shall be out of that bed like a shot!" she informed him.

It was the best warning he had ever gained!

* * *

Peter lay in bed thoughtfully watching Donna move about the room in her pyjamas; in his room! He almost wanted to hug himself in glee; except that would hurt until his painkillers kicked in properly.

"What are you looking so pleased about, mister? Telling yourself a good joke, no doubt," she pondered. There was a quality about him that was absolutely thrumming with excitement.

In light of that, she went back into the lounge, grabbed the cushions off the three piece suite and returned to the bedroom. In absolute despair, Peter watched her place the cushions on the bed next to him to form a small wall. "What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded to know.

"What does it look like, you twonk! I'm building a modesty wall," she retorted, patting the cushions to force them to sit at their highest.

"Modesty!" he protested. "You've fucking seen all there is to see of me. Why do you need this…?" He then pointed with disgust at the wall of cushions. "It doesn't exactly hide much."

"Oh, you daft git! I'm not trying to hide your body, I'm trying to stop you copping a feel in the night," she angrily explained.

"Why would you think I'd stoop so low?" he asked in shocked disappointment. "If I wanted to, I could have done more than that by now. If anybody's honour is at risk here it is mine! Do I need to point out that you have already touched parts of me not many people have? No. There you go; I rest my case." He then sat back on his pillow with the satisfied air of a justified man.

Donna laughed and climbed into the bed. "Night, Peter," she firmly murmured.

In next to no time she was sound asleep by his side.


	8. Chapter 8

_Previously:_

_Donna laughed and climbed into the bed. "Night, Peter," she firmly murmured._

_In next to no time she was sound asleep by his side._

* * *

**Part 8**

.

'_Please look at me, Donna',_ Peter softly pleaded. To his delight, she thrashed about and turned towards him. But when he moved closer, his gentle puffs of breath wafted across her face, caused her to turn away again. Never mind. He could snuggle up behind her back, using the comfort of the cushions as his excuse.

He waited until she was deeply asleep before he even risked thinking the thought that had been hiding all night within his mind: he wanted her. As he allowed the forbidden to roll across his consciousness, his desire for her grew. What wouldn't he like to do to that precious porcelain skin, those freckles that peeked out from her pyjama jacket as they splattered across her upper back, and her long ginger hair that rested so temptingly against his chest? Rubbing his nose lightly along her shoulder, he took a deep breath and sucked in the aroma of her body. It was intoxicating.

'_And totally off limits!'_

He blinked wildly. Where had that came from? Whose voice had suddenly popped into his head and told him off? It wasn't fair! Here he was in bed with the first woman he had captured since he had landed back in this universe, and he was being detoured from his sexual conquest.

'_But this isn't just a quick fuck; this is Donna!'_

'Yes, that's right,' he told himself as he tried to rein in his ardour. Trying to ignore the various ways his body ached, he used the time to plan his next career move; and eventually fell asleep.

* * *

Another nightmare hit him. One where his conscience was berating him for the things he had done and the things he was about to do.

'_Don't take Donna away!'_ he cried out to the figureless threat. _'Please don't take my Donna way!'_

'_Why should I show mercy?'_ the avenging ether wondered. _'Look what you did to him!'_

Peter was then shown a bereft tall dark haired man; causing him to cry out in anguish.

* * *

With a shout, and much determination, Peter forced his eyes open and the dream to recede; leaving him panting. To the side of him was the concerned face of Donna as she gazed at him from across her cushion barrage, her hand tenderly stroking his chin and beard. She had quickly learned that this action soothed him when he was distressed.

"Who's Brian?" she asked him when he had properly roused himself.

"Who?" Okay, he could instantly see that she wasn't buying that. He sheepishly rubbed a hand down his face. "Brian was my first. The first person that _I_ ever fell in love with, but I… I betrayed him. I couldn't believe that anyone so wonderful could ever love me back, and I sort of…" He whimpered then in remembrance.

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me," she said softly. "We all make mistakes."

"Yeah, but mine were fucking monumental!" he griped. "All he did was love me, and I took, and I took from him," he said bitterly.

She moved her hand to stroke through his hair, still calming him down. "You were frightened to love with all your heart. We've all done it. Were you in love with Ginger too" He flinched at the question, so she justified it by adding, "You said that name too."

"I suppose I loved her in my own way; but I used her more than anything else. Just like I've used so many other people on my way to get what I wanted," he explained.

She jokingly asked, "You're not a politician, are you?"

He ruefully laughed. "I'm an evil bastard, Donna. You don't know what I'm like," he insisted.

She sighed in exasperation at him. "I know you were hurting, that you felt victimised and judged; but you're not evil. Even Mum doesn't say bad things about you, and that's no mean achievement!"

He lifted his sad eyes to regard her openly. "Why didn't I get to be with you earlier? Why was I flung away like that? To cause so much pain to so many people when I could have been better?"

She blushed modestly, knowing his sincerity. "Who knows? The point is you are in a better place now. Come here, you silly sod," she ordered him, pushing the cushions aside to wrap her arms around his quaking shoulders. She wouldn't let him go now. He needed her like no one had ever needed her before. She had her purpose in the world to fulfil, and she was determined to do it to the best of her abilities.

"What happens when I fuck it up with you, Donna? Will you hate me too?" he asked in a muffled voice.

"It'd have to be pretty damn bad for that to happen," she told him after considering the possible circumstances. "I'm afraid you've got me now for life."

God knew what he then mumbled against her neck, but she rather got the impression he was pleased.

* * *

When Peter woke up the next time, Donna had gone, and he tried not to panic but a large part of him feared he had chased her away before they had even had a proper chance to be together. As it was, a voice soon called out to him from the kitchen.

"Do you want toast or cereal?" she loudly asked him. And then her head poked round the door to regard his stunned face. "You thought I'd buggered off for a second. Go on; admit it!" Her words were softened by her friendly smile, and then she gave a small chuckle. "Can't get rid of me that easily, Mr Noble."

He frowned. "What's with the 'Mr Noble'? Am I in trouble?"

"Only if you don't tell me what you want for breakfast. Now get up, you tart! Anybody would think you don't work for a living." She then stood expectantly in the doorway.

He was momentarily captivated by this action, and only then thought to finally answer her. "I'll have some toast, please." He then completely surprised her by smiling. "Donna, I fully intend to get a job of some sort. Before you know it I'll be providing you with every luxury you could imagine," he told her confidently.

She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. "Seeing as you've been a good boy, I'll arrange a pleasant surprise for you later."

He was intrigued when she dipped her head back out of the room.

* * *

He was not so pleased when his surprise arrived. Having paid a visit to the bathroom just before teatime telly started, he entered the lounge and found a strange bloke sitting nervously on the settee.

"Hello," Peter said cautiously. "Can I help you?" He half expected the bloke to be a trainee reporter for the local paper or thing. Probably aged about twenty; twenty three at the most, by his reckoning.

"Hello. I er… You're very handsome," the young man said as he got up and stepped nearer.

"Thanks," Peter answered, wondering what this was all about. "I don't want to sound rude, but why are you here?"

"I'm here for you," was the reply, "to do with as you like." The young man then lunged at Peter, causing him to jump out of the way as best he could. This sort of thing hadn't happened to him in ages!

Peter looked at the young man in horror. "Yes I'm sure you're lovely; but I think you've got the wrong end of the stick!" he declared.

The young man regarded him in confusion. "But the lady said…"

The lady said what? Rage welled up in Peter. She had done what? "Donna! Come here!" he yelled at the top of his voice.

Donna peeped around the door at him. "What? What's the matter? I was about to go home."

"What! I'll tell you what the fucking matter is!" he raged.

"I think you'd better go, love," Donna softly warned the young man, pushing passed her as he tried to escape. There was the sound of the front door being hastily opened and then shut. She then turned her full unabated attention onto Peter. "Go on then, tell me what the hell I've done wrong now!"

"You…!" The angry breath stuttered in his throat. He didn't even know where to begin. "Let's get this fucking straight; you are not some pimp for me. I do not expect you to line up sex toys for me no matter how much I whinge about being horny. Is that understood?"

"I was only trying to help, you ungrateful sod!" she bit back. "You haven't had any since I've known you."

He hobbled nearer to her, and he noted that she resolutely stood her ground with him. "Oh Donna," he said more gently. "It's not your place to do that, it really isn't. You mean more than that."

"I do?" she asked as he edged nearer still. This was building up to something that she wasn't sure she could handle, but she had to know. "What are you getting at?"

Peter raised shaky hands to her head, his eyes fixed on her in a sorrowful stare. "You shall never know your true worth, Donna Noble. Not to me or anyone else; unless…" His fingertips lightly brushed her temples, and he knew… he just _knew_ that something fundamentally was wrong with them; with him. He wasn't Time Lord enough to help her with the merest touch; he would have to seek a deeper, more permanent connection with her in order to save her life. He licked his lips in exasperation. "I can't do it!" he proclaimed despondently.

"Can't do what?" Donna asked as she watched the rise and fall of his hands in fascination. "Is this you testing out one of your magic tricks?"

"Yes," he answered weakly. He wanted to cry. All that effort to get this far, to finally pluck up the courage to lay his hands upon her, and he had failed miserably. Not only that, but he wanted her with a vengeance. His body cried out for him to take her then and there, roughly, up against the wall, or any other way possible. His mind, on the other hand, was yelling at him to stop fucking about!

A whimper escaped through his lips as he staggered back in shock. What had he been thinking? If he had lain one finger on her he would have broken their relationship forever. He knew he could tease her with his flirting but he wasn't stupid enough to expect her to actually want him to follow through. Donna Noble didn't put up with that sort of nonsense! And he needed her in so many ways to help him cope with this human existence. "I'm sorry," he quietly told her.

"Oh Peter," Donna gasped out compassionately. She didn't quite understand what personal demon he was dealing with; but she did know he was hurting quite a lot. "Are you in any pain? Shall I get you some painkillers yet?" she asked as she eased him into a chair. "You know you mustn't overdo things for a while."

"I just need a drink," he replied, and met her disapproving glare. "I didn't mean a stiff drink, I meant fucking tea!"

"That's alright then," she retorted, and went off to the kitchen, leaving him alone.

He placed his hand over his forehead as he considered his dilemma. To gain sufficient access to heal Donna he would have to be in extreme intimate contact with her body or he could kiss the whole idea goodbye. The point was he wanted to be that intimate very much but he was sure Donna at that moment didn't. Oh he was sure he could seduce her into bed, he had no qualms about his abilities; but the end result in both scenarios was the same. If they merely had sex she would end up hating him. If he opened her mind to restore her memories she would hate him even more for what he had done. She would know _everything_ about his past if they got as close as that.

He couldn't believe that he had got himself into this mess! Whichever way he turned, he mustn't fucking kiss Donna, because that would start the process that would ultimately kill her unless he was in a position to stop it. Oh fuck this! He wanted to be in that position with all his being. All he seemed to think of was being in that position, pressed up nice and cosy with her body.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** this is the penultimate chapter of this little tale. I truly hope you are enjoying it.

* * *

_Previously:_

_Whichever way he turned, he mustn't fucking kiss Donna, because that would start the process that would ultimately kill her unless he was in a position to stop it. Oh fuck this! He wanted to be in that position with all his being. All he seemed to think of was being in that position, pressed up nice and cosy with her body_.

* * *

**Part 9**

.

He thumped the arm of the chair in repeated angry movements. At times like this he hated being fucking human! He'd have to carry on letting her think he was only gay for the time being.

"Oi! Stop beating up the furniture," she admonished him as soon as she appeared through the door. With careful ease, she balanced his mug of tea on the armrest.

Before she could turn away from him, he shot out a hand and grasped her retrieving wrist. "Donna, I just wanted to say…," he tried to tell her his feelings, and swallowed anxiously.

"I know. That's okay," she replied. "I'll put your dinner on the timer and then I'll be off."

Panic pulsed through him. How could he let her go now? "Can't you…? I mean, would you…?" Why couldn't he get the words out? Damn being so physically weak, it was playing havoc with everything, making him appear to be a right wuss. "I get nightmares."

She tenderly stroked his hair. "You're frightened you'll have another seizure. That's understandable. Do you want me to stay the night just in case?" she offered.

"Yes please!" he enthused in his relief. He didn't care that he sounded more than a bit desperate; he needed her there to help him heal.

"I'll have to pop home for a change of clothing and then I'll be right back. Don't worry, Peter Rabbit. I won't be long," she assured him.

He felt much better when she left him this time. Why should he worry? He was in safe hands. Once his body was sorted out he could start on his next plan of action.

* * *

It a fair amount of time to build up a promising career this time but Peter had no doubts that he could do it back in this universe. He began performing street magic whilst employed as a street cleaner. He knew that he wouldn't last long in the job, but he ended up making contacts that way, and finding people to persuade to let him push his career on further. Only he tried not to go the sexual route, for Donna's sake; he wanted to stay healthy for her.

By this point Donna had been moved on from her stint at the police station. She missed it terribly, but Peter had kept his word, trying to bring in as much money as possible. He'd become a pseudo brother in her life, working his personal magic on everyone he met. Even her mother had practically fallen over herself for him when he flashed his charms at her. He'd been a nervous wreck the first time he'd meet her and Wilf, expecting them to instantly recognise him; but they hadn't. The stage persona he had carefully honed worked as an excellent disguise in this universe too, so he had kept them spellbound with his words and actions. The whole thing had made Donna laugh on more than one occasion.

It had been logical to become flatmates when the opportunity arose a couple of weeks after he had left the hospital. Peter knew he was exploiting Donna's need to nurture him, but the basic truth was that he didn't want to let go. Having her sleep mere feet, and sometimes only inches, away soothed his Time Human mind more than he had anticipated; and she had said that her migraines had lessened considerably. Those hugs of theirs were powerful medicine.

* * *

The only time they had argued bitterly had been over her dating Frankie Preston when Donna had wanted to test if she still had 'it'. Peter had gone into full protective mode over that one! Not that she needed protecting, she had insisted on telling him; but she had been pleased he had wanted to protect her in return.

Nothing Peter had done had changed the way she felt about him. In fact her feelings had grown stronger despite her best efforts to quash them. Why did she always have to fall for the wrong bloke? Although when things had west with Frankie, Peter had instantly offered to cuddle up with her during a long film marathon on the settee; and he had jokingly told her that if they were still both single by the age of forty he would marry her. He always gave her hope when she lay in his arms.

Several months after Peter had first performed in the street, he had conned his way into an appearance on a local television show, a publicist had noticed him and he was invited to join the travelling show Strictly Dancing as a support act. Peter had danced all around the flat when they had got that news; grabbing up Donna from her seat to twirl her too.

He had almost told her in that ecstatic moment; he had almost said the unretractable, and he knew from his experience on the beach how quickly it could spiral out of reach. So instead he kept the information to himself, basking in the secret and his continuing pretence with her.

Every single time she turned and smiled at him it reaffirmed what he was doing, why he was doing it. She provided all the sunshine in his life. It didn't matter that he couldn't have her sexually; in every other sense of the word she was his. There was no doubt in his mind; he could feel their joint love emanating from her day by day. When she could take the step of leaving a temp job to be his permanent PA, his joy knew no limits. Their lives were entwined forever.

* * *

Of course rising fame brought unwelcome interest in Peter and Donna Noble. Whenever the press tried to corner him about their relationship, asking if she was a relative or were they married, he would always answer in the same way: "She's my Donna." He knew it answered everything if they were clever enough to work it out; but he doubted that very much. All the reporters wanted from him was something saucy to write about. This universe was no different to the alternate universe in that matter. With that in mind, he had warned Donna of his actions, and had been seen accompanying numerous young women into and out of various nightclubs. It got his picture in the papers and that was all he cared about. All publicity is good publicity if you play it right.

Donna accepted it was for appearances sake only, and Sylvia was happily building up a scrapbook of newspaper clippings to boast with. Wilf had proudly taken all his cronies to see a performance of Peter's; completely making his day.

It had become a never ending round of work, appearances, socialising and networking again; but this time he had someone solid in his life offering support at every step of the way. If only… Fuck! He refused to let that 'if only' rule his life. Instead he formed another plan.

* * *

Every place they went, Peter insisted that he was given a suite of rooms for him and Donna to share. That way he could protect her from the harpies that tried to grab a piece of them, and it kept him safe; he never strayed from the right path when she was nice and close to him. It worked well as the work flooded in and his fame steadily grew over the months. Fame this time around was achieved much more quickly because the rules of the game were the same and he knew them inside out. No one would get one over on him; he was determined they wouldn't. With fame came access to people and ideas; opening doors to obtain the items he required for his plan. With Donna by his side he stayed focused to the bitter end.

Sharing rooms worked perfectly well, until Christmas loomed up large and monstrously. Christmas was the season for kissing, and he wasn't sure he could retain his detached persona when temptation threw itself in his face. The crux came when they were due to appear in Glasgow.

Donna had entered their office looking agitated. "I've just had Mervin on the phone, and he said they can't get us a set of rooms together. I'll have to stay somewhere else."

"The fuck you will!" he immediately protested. "Phone him back and tell him either you are with me somewhere, and I really don't give a fuck where or how, or we don't go at all."

"It's okay, Peter. I don't mind being somewhere else from you for a change. I can cope," she told him confidently.

He shook his head. "No, Donna. I am not risking you getting anywhere near those bastards who would eat you up and spit you out without thinking about it."

"But I've never even been approached by anyone beyond the odd journalist. I don't understand why you are so worried," she argued.

That got him out of his seat and by her side in seconds. "That's because I have always dealt with those slimy bastards, and I always will. They are not touching you," he told her gently, reaching out to tenderly caress her face. "No one takes my Donna away from me."

A fond smile spread across her features. "You soppy sod! I'm not a pet, you know."

"Oh I know," he agreed. "Now onto other things," he distracted himself, wanting to stay on the subject but knowing it led to a dangerous road, "have you sorted yourself out a dress for the party at Tony Price's? I can get Debbie to help out if necessary."

"All sorted," she said triumphantly. "I've got this…," she started to explain about her dress, pointing at her chest as she did so. "You don't want to hear about that. While I'm here I wanted to ask; what are we doing about Christmas?"

"Christmas? Do you mean the actual day?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm talking about the day. Everything else has been organised to within an inch of its life. Are we going to Mum's or did you have somewhere else planned? If you have, you can tell her. I get it enough in the ear as it is, what with her moaning we don't go and see them that often and how your work keeps us away; blah, blah, blah."

"Oh! I suppose we could go home…" He had hardly got the last word out of his mouth when she launched herself at him in a deep-felt hug. "Give me room to breathe," he grumbled as he wrapped his arms around her.

It always felt so good to hold her close. Their faint connection buzzed into being, drowning his senses for a moment, leaving him feeling heady with the affect. He wondered if she was aware of it too.

"Do you want to do our presents on the day?" she asked against his chest.

"Oh fuck! I've completely forgotten about presents," he realised. "Or should I say _your_ present. I'm assuming you've dealt with everybody else's?" He gained the nod he had hoped for. "What do you want, Donna? What would you like me to give you?"

"Surprise me. It doesn't have to be much, but just go out and choose me something personally, from you," she said.

* * *

He was quite proud of himself for evading every attempt by people to get him to kiss them during the season, since to lay himself open to all that would endanger Donna. But he hadn't taken into consideration their host for the evening: Tony Price. Tony had noticed how Peter regarded Donna when she and everybody else wasn't paying attention; and he had laid a trap.

The evening show had gone well, and Peter had gone to collect Donna and then they'd carry on to the party. He held in a gasp when Donna met him at the door of their Glaswegian hotel room. She looked beautiful in a scarlet long dress that hugged all her curves in all the right places. "You could have changed out of the Pollyanna apron," he pretended to gripe when he saw her.

Donna had smirked in amusement. She was able to easily take this sort of backhanded compliment. "I had to keep up the appearance as your slave, didn't I? The shackles are a bit of a problem."

"Then I'd better tie you to me," he suggested; making her excitement grow.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** this last part has been slightly edited for sexual content. You can find the uncensored version on my LiveJournal website.

* * *

_Previously:_

_Donna had smirked in amusement. She was able to easily take this sort of backhanded compliment. "I had to keep up the appearance as your slave, didn't I? The shackles are a bit of a problem."_

"_Then I'd better tie you to me," he suggested; making her excitement grow._

* * *

**Part 10**

.

He heartily laughed at her expression as he offered his arm for her to hold onto, and they made their way to the Audi car that would take them to the party. It was in full swing when they got there, and they were greeted like old friends. Within seconds they were introduced to all the important partygoers as though they were highly favoured guests. Peter loved the attention. Well, he did, right up until he inadvertently found himself standing under a massive bunch of mistletoe that hung low in an impressive Georgian room, and couldn't escape.

"Come on, Peter! Surely you can give the lovely Donna here a Christmas kiss," Tony insisted; and Peter found himself gazing into Donna's questioning eyes.

She clearly wanted to know why he was avoiding it. He could feel it through their tentative link, and he really didn't want to explain why. "Of course I can, Tony," he answered as brightly as he could. "Stopping, on the other hand, is the problem."

There was a sceptical expression on Donna's face. As if he'd have a problem stopping! Who was he kidding? Feeling everyone's eyes on her, she tried to dismiss the impression that she'd been set up to be rejected publically. Instead she waited for Peter to come up with a clever way to deflect the situation. To her surprise he leaned in closer and eyed her lips anxiously. There was a faint lick of his own lips and then he was taking hold of her chin with two fingers, tilting her face up slightly; and then there was a gentle press against her mouth.

Gasping in surprise, she accidentally opened to him, and he seemed to take that as an invite to do more than ghost his lips over hers. He was actually tasting her for a few seconds, drawing her flush with his body; and then he suddenly stopped and pulled away.

Peter chuckled self-consciously to cover his action. "And that, dear Tony, is why you shouldn't kiss Donna. You'd sell your soul to keep doing it."

Tony laughed with delight. He had gained exactly the effect he had wanted, and he triumphantly wandered off to try out the trick on someone else; leaving Peter facing a befuddled Donna.

"What did you mean by doing that?" Donna hissed at Peter as soon as she could.

"We'll discuss this when we get back to the hotel," he hissed back in equal tones. Oh, he knew she'd make sure they discussed it later. He had no doubts about that.

As it was she was waiting for the right moment as soon as they got back. "Well?" she demanded as they walked into the room.

He double checked to see if there was a ball of fire around her, because he half expected it. "Well what?" he asked in his feigned ignorance.

She actually stamped her foot in fury. "Don't give me that! I want to know what that kiss was all about?"

"Ah," he merely said as he tried to think up an acceptable defence. "It was a kiss under the mistletoe, provoked by that fucking scumbag, Tony Price." He then turned his attention onto switching a radio channel on, and soft music filtered across the room. Music soothed the savage beast so perhaps it would sooth a rampaging Donna?

"Yes, I know that bit! I happened to be there. Look at me when I'm talking to you!" The music seemed to work its magic a little bit because her expression softened. "Say it, Peter. Why do I feel there's something you're not telling me?"

He stepped up to her and drew her into a dancing pose. "Dance with me. I didn't get the chance to do so tonight and I'm sorry for that. I was too busy organising business meetings for future gigs as usual, when I should have been making the most of how stunning you look," he admitted.

She inevitably scoffed at him. "Get to the point!"

He swayed them into small dancing movements; and to his surprise she readily let him. "You wanted to know why I did this." He brought his mouth down next to hers and placed a brief kiss there. "Except I didn't do that; I did this." Another, much less brief kiss was placed on her lips. "Shall I tell you something? I've wanted to do that for a fucking long time."

There! He had finally said it, having lit the blue touch-paper and was now forced to stand well back to wait for the fireworks. It was beginning to faintly buzz around her, creating a indefinable aura.

He went to place another kiss but she hastily pulled her head away. "What do you mean by a long time?"

This was his golden opportunity to make a declaration. "I mean ever since I first met you. From that moment I wanted to kiss you to within an inch of your life," he confessed, feeling braver because she hadn't removed herself from within his embrace.

"But… you were in love with Brian!" she spluttered.

"I was. I also love chocolate and I loved Tom & Jerry. All things are relative and there are all sorts of love," he argued. "And I take it that you don't love me in that way. Sorry." He then let go of her, allowing her to escape from him.

To his delight, she didn't even try. "Let me get this straight... and yes, we'll ignore the usage of that word for the moment… are you saying you love me? In a fancy-love sort of way and not a brotherly love way?" Her eyes desperately searched his for some truth.

"Yes," he said quietly; hardly believing he was finally saying it. "Does this mean you might…? No, that's silly. Of course you wouldn't love me. What was I thinking?"

"Peter, I…," she started to say, as though she was going to let him down gently.

He turned his head, not wanting to see her sympathetic expression as he quietly died inside. He'd ruined it. He had committed the ultimate faux pas, and she would never be healed now. Every hope had been dashed. "Fuck!" he cried out in anguish. "What the fuck have I done?"

"Peter…," she tried again.

"Don't! Don't say it; please don't! I can't…," he stuttered in his grief as the consequences piled onto him, and he hid his face behind his hands. "Years of work down the drain," he mumbled pathetically.

"Shame that, because I was going to say I love you too," she remarked, and sighed dramatically. "Never mind; I'll save it for… Oof!"

Her words were shut off as he grabbed her head and crushed his lips onto hers, stealing her breath away. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry," he murmured repeatedly when he broke momentarily away from taking possession of her mouth.

Ooh, the luxury of smoothing his hands down her body, over her bare back and landing on her bottom; pressing her lower torso against him. Her hands were everywhere on him too, as if she had no idea where to start first in her eagerness.

He mentally ticked off items on a list as he hungrily kissed her tempting lips. There was a way to use this, to take the final step. A happy groan escaped from him as he swept his tongue over hers, exploring her mouth with abandon.

* * *

They inevitably broke apart, panting heavily as they sucked in much needed oxygen. "So you've wanted to do that for a while?" she asked in glee. "What stopped you? Besides making that weird pen of yours."

"You have no idea how much I have wanted to do this and more!" he enthused. A thought occurred to him, and he anxiously glanced at the bed. "We normally share a bed without any problem. Is it okay to… erm… sleep together tonight?"

Ah! A loaded question that gave her a get out clause. "It depends…," she began to answer; and was gratified when his expression immediately fell. "It depends how much sleep you want to get and how equipped you are."

A broad grin lit up his face. "I've been fully prepared for a while now; so the equipment is all accounted for. That just leaves the question of sleeping." He then took hold of her hands and placed them firmly on his chest over his heart, right on his buttons. "The next part is yours to decide."

Part of her wanted to bite off those buttons. It was the same part of her that wanted to see how tanned he was now and whether her memory was right about other things. Flashing him a coquettish smile, she lifted her chin and openly invited him to kiss her again before launching herself at his lips. For once she was pleased about how naturally talented he was.

As she fumbled with undoing his fastenings he was slowly unzipping her dress. Well, his hands weren't being squished between them as he tried to manoeuvre them towards nakedness. "Do you have a...?" she suddenly thought to ask.

His mouth was worshipping her neck at the time, and he instantly reassured her. "Yes, I have everything we will need." He didn't add that he would palm it as soon as he could, making her believe he was using one. His plans involved close intimate contact where pregnancy was a lesser risk than death.

Kiss after kiss was placed, traded and bartered; feeding their spiralling desire. Until finally he was faced with the inevitable as he hovered above her body on the bed, causing him to hesitate.

"What is it, Peter?" she asked, not understanding yet why he had stopped after all their declarations.

Wide-eyed, he gulped nervously. "I'm frightened, Donna. I am so fucking frightened because I will destroy everything by doing this," he confessed.

She frowned up at him. "What do you mean? How can making love destroy what we feel for each other? I don't understand."

His greatest trick ever was beckoning; promising everlasting glory. He swept a hand lightly over her temple and landed on her cheek, thumbing it thoughtfully. "The only way to heal you is to take this final step; but then you'll know everything about me and I know it will kill how you feel. You won't love me in the same way, you just won't! And I don't want to lose you like this."

"How can knowing everything stop me loving you so much? Surely it should do the opposite," she reasoned.

"For fuck's sake, Donna! I'm not just talking about warts and all; you'd know where I come from, why I'm here, how and everything in between. You are going to hate me…"

She grabbed his head then, passionately kissing him to prove otherwise.

He eagerly kissed back. If he was going to lose the things he cherished most he'd fucking choose how and when. In that moment he didn't think he could love her more for trying to accept him, for doing so without question. There was no other way to save her; he could already feel the Time Lord consciousness starting to threaten her. Within minutes she could be gone if he couldn't pull this off.

It was now or never, he knew that; and she felt so warm and soft beneath his hands. He wanted her so much and there was no point in holding back any longer. With a cry of anguish he brought his hands up to her contact points.

The swirling gold light in her eyes intensified, and she gasped out a silent scream.

Images; so many images in her head. and words fought to appear centre stage in her mind, full of colour and sounds. "You're not just Peter, you're the Doctor!" Tears streamed down her face, as she saw the beauty, the horror and the sacrifices that had torn his life apart. "My little Doctor! Oh, my Golden Graham. You came back for me; all that way."

"Yes I did," he readily agreed, tears now on his own cheeks having heard that teasing name again after thinking he never would. "I'd do it all again if I had to."

All he could feel coming from her was love and acceptance; pleasing his soul. There were no haunting secrets. She knew everything, every single thing; and she hadn't rejected him offhand. He then slowly extracted from his jacket pocket a device that looked more than familiar to Donna now.

"You've got a sonic screwdriver!" she squealed in excitement. "Where did you get that?"

"I made it," he stated proudly. "Er… Donna. Exactly how attached are you to this…?" He then twirled a finger to circumnavigate the outline of his head.

"What; your face? Are you saying you are going to change your face?" she asked in disbelief.

"No, you silly cow!" He laughed in sheer delight. "I'm asking if you like all the hair. Would you be appalled if I shaved off the beard and moustache as they are really getting on my pip? And I want to ditch the long hair for day to day use. That way my stage makeup can be totally different, and we can go out and enjoy ourselves in privacy for a bit," he explained.

"Hmm." She carefully considered his face. "Shave it off," she said decisively. "I want to see the real you again." She watched him scan her, without complaining once about the bleeping. "Well? What's the verdict? I'd like to know who to contact in the next five minutes."

A glorious, triumphant smile shone back at her. "I did it! You're safe. We' better call your mum and tell her about our engagement. If you'll have me… of course…"

"Daft half Martian!" she softly chided him. "'Of course' is the operative phrase." She then encouraged him with more than kisses to finish what he had started as they both glowed with a different colour.

* * *

The next time Peter saw Vincent Noble looking back at him in a bathroom mirror he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. There was nothing that could contain his happiness. Even the thought of informing Sylvia was cheering him up.

"Oi! Emo boy! Haven't you finished checking out your handsome face yet?" Donna sauntered in to demand. "We've got rings to go and buy."

She couldn't resist stroking a finger tenderly along his freshly shaven, smooth chin, and across his lips; loving the fact he was back as she remembered him. He caught hold of her finger and kissed it.

"Fucking perfect!" he exclaimed without a trace of irony. For once he truly meant it.


End file.
